It's been a crazy couple of weeks. Davinia has been and gone, and I think its safe to say that the Creole spirit took a hold of her, gave her a good shake and left her wanton. Not to say that her stint here wasn't fraught with its fair share of glitches, one of the most memorable being the household flood that greeted us one Friday morning a week or so back.
Funnily enough, there is a severe water shortage in the Seychelles, the result of which is that the water is turned off at 6pm and resumes at 6am. On the Friday morning in question, we'd had a booze fuelled night before. As usual, I had to wake up early to go and do my mosquito thing with Simon and the team. Upon being roused by my alarm I spotted a crisp, red, 100 rupee note floating across the body of water that had filled our room. This was no mini 'oops I've left my bath on and theres a wee puddle kind of flood', you know the sh*ts hit the fan when stuff is floating. We had all our electricals, phones, dissertation material, clothes, you name it floating or immersed in water. The look on Davinias face when I woke her up suddenly was priceless - she it was slightly crazed and wide eyed. It was hilarious. When I actually broke the news that there was a flood she froze and then proceeded to do a root cause analysis of how it happened.
Im no emergency disaster relief expert but my strategy to just 'get the water out' seemed quite logical to me. I did wonder what planet she was on when she suggested 'sorting things out' before my cousin Claude woke up, considering the whole flat was submerged in a good few inches of water.
On the Sunday after the flood crisis we had a family party for Davinias' birthday. It was quite fun indeed. The DJ's selection of 'pti man' music didn't go down well with the old folks, but once he wacked on some sega (traditional music) it was like a scene from that film 'cocoon'. The old timers got a new lease of life. Even the tee totallers within the family threw caution to the wind and were knocking back punch and seybrew :-) We danced loads and finally had to call it a day when it got a bit later and a mysterious beam of light shone danced from face to face. It was Titante. Apart from wanting to know who was still there and doing what of course, she also suggested it was time to call it a day.
The day before Davinias departure we took a trip to La Digue, one of the inner islands. It has a totally different feel to Mahe, with its small population of 3000 and travel mostly restricted to oxcart and bicycle, the mini isle oozes tranquility. It also has some of the most stunning landscape. We stayed with family friends who typically of the seychellois were very hospitable. Our host Ronny made a barbecue from scratch, before chucking on some 'bourzwa', and making chicken, octopus curry, various chutneys and salads. It was lovely. Within Seychellois culture, the men learn to cook from a young age, and cook bloody well. It is one of the most appealing facets of the lifestyle here. I do wonder how I'm going to cope when I go back to the UK, I might actually pay attention when my mum cooks for once and try to learn how to cook the staples, Kari coco, pwason griye and la dob...
A small mishap with tickets led to us being stranded on the island, and with Davinias flight the next day, we were a tad bit distressed. My friend Ronny was going to take us over to another island with his boat, but luckily we managed to hitch a ride on the 'Praslin Dolphin' a cargo boat destined for Mahe. It turned out to be a blessing. We had great seats aboard the top deck and a view to die for. The sea was calm as we sailed while the sun was setting. The crew were very kind, giving us sugar cane and guava to munch on (Davinia ate the sugar cane like a bush girl from the amazon but it was a nightmare for me so had to chuck it in the sea when I thought the captain wasnt looking).
Just a quick update on my doggy Bush: - We had a bit of a scare a couple of weeks back when he was very poorly. We'd just returned form my cousin Ruths birthday and she had decided to escort us the 5 metres from her house to ours so that she could give Titante some cake. We were greeted by Bush looking lacklustre and weak, and he seemed to be struggling to breathe. Ruth works for the SSPCA (kind of the like the RSPCA) so she is used to assisting with vet like duties. Upon seeing little Bushie distressed I whimpered 'Ruth do something!' and on cue, Ruth does her thing and tends to Bush, force feeding him salt water then giving him sugars, which promptly made him regurgitate something I don't ever wish to recall in my memory again. He's back to his normal self and stinks like hell but we're all happy. I can't help but tickle his tummy and shake his little paw when I see him. Today he said good morning (with his tail) and I even didnt mind the jumping on me and licking of my legs. I think I'm converted! (to cute little dogs, not the feral beast with scary gnasher types...
It's my last day here, and I'm running around like mad (well picking up the phone every so often and asking for favours) trying to get my last bits of data. For me this jaunt to the motherland is only the beginning. I've had a wonderful time, made some true friends and have fallen in love with my liquorice allsort family, warts and all. Everyone tells me they think I'll be back soon. I think they may be right. In the meanwhile, look out for my forthcoming peer-reviewed paper on the status of Aedes albopictus within Seychelles, it should be published in the Lancet next year. NOT!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Sesel mon kontan ou...
My cousin David is young, fed up and restless. He told me that I’d have enough after 2 months in Seychelles. I’m nearing that amount of time here and although it has been trying on all fronts, I could never get fed up of being with my family and learning more about my roots, history and culture. Day by day I grow to understand why my mum and the family that emigrated abroad will always feel like fish out of water outside of their home, why the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow can never make up for being away from what makes up the essence of your being.
The mosquito surveys are going ok, although I’ve become a bit worried about the research that I’m conducting, mostly because it has dawned on me that I’m not entirely sure what the hell my main aims are. I have a wealth of information, it’s just knowing what to do with it. To top things off, my tutor at Kings has declined my request for an extension until November. When I read this news in my email today I almost lost the will to carry on, but after a pep talk from Danny, the Director, and his offer of a Smirnoff ice coupled with a data gathering exercise, I was motivated to carry on.
Davinia has been here over a week now and although we are having a great time, her arrival signifies the end of my time here and the thought of leaving does make me feel a bit sad. My family have taken her in and have simply amazed me at how wonderful they really are at making her feel welcomed. They simply want her to have a great time and are already looking forward to her return. I don’t get to see them often and this time spent with them has been ‘pli bon’ as we say in creole or simply lovely.
Davinias’ easy going nature works for me during this time of immense stress with the project. Today my friend come tour guide Terence took us to a beach at North east point after work and we sat on the rocks watching the waves crash and sun go down while teasing each other. By day we count mosquito eggs, by night we visit and chat (or on occasion dance) with various family members and friends, ending up with dinner at Drinas and drinks at Cocos. Tomorrow Davinia will be going jet skiing and I’ll be doing the mosquito survey thing (one more survey to go, woohoo!).
Her birthday is on Monday, and from her scrappy knowledge of GCSE French, my family giving her daily creole lessons, and my cousin Jimmys crap secret keeping skills, she managed to decipher our surprise birthday plans for her. What we’ve organised is a party on my cousin Coco’s verandah this coming Sunday.
There’ll be a barbecue and we’ve managed to get the best musicians on the island to attend including the famous Kevin Rat. Apparently he was the most famous singer this island ever turned out, but after much womanising and 30 kids later, alcohol got the better of him. I simply cannot imagine him as a heart-throb, I even think he takes after his name and has a rattish look to him. Kevin Rat a lothario?! -but that’s how everyone describes how he was back in the day. He’s a thin wisp of a man with wild shoulder length hair and an unruly beard who can just about walk straight. Although I do wonder how much of it is an act for sympathy (one day I saw him on crutches, the next day he was walking fine along the mountainous terrain). He still does a few impromptu performances on demand (providing the drinks are flowing of course). Titante smacks her lips whenever she talks about his voice and considering she doesn’t dish out compliments too easily he must be very good indeed. I can’t wait to hear him perform. I’ve also convinced my uncle Lewis (the best bassist on the island wouldn’t you know) to find a guitar and play for me, he laid down his guitar 38 years ago so I feel quite honoured.
We’ve also got a well known musician Joel performing and I think we are going to have a sega dancing competition, Davinias learned the hip swaying quite quick, but I’m still going to take the title. It should be pretty damn great (
My little dog Bush is doing well. He walked me to the shops today and tried to follow Davinia and I to town. I’m a bit paranoid about him running around so free as my Uncle Gabbys dog ‘Tiny’ died recently. Tiny had eaten poison left out for stray dogs a couple of weeks ago. Another family dog Rocky also nearly died, but after being force fed milk and some tender loving care from my aunty Marlene, he survived. As you can imagine everyone was pretty sad at Tinys demise. When I first met Tiny, I had to sit through the whole story of when he was born and how cute he was etc. For me there is-or was should I say a line of demarcation between humans and animals.
I gave platitudes while rolling my eyes at the time but now I’m understanding where all that animal love is coming from. My cousin Ruth told me that it was there deep inside, in my blood as all my family are obsessed (she’s a vet) and I just needed to tap into it somehow. Now I think I’ve found my dog mojo. I don’t think I’d ever have one in the UK though. Compared to over here, dogs are babied and treated like silly creatures and it seems to reflect in their behaviour so it just wouldn’t be the same. I can’t even walk myself, let alone a dog, anyhow.
My great uncle Ro-Ro had the most amazing dog ever, Kristoff. From birth he trained Kristoff well. Uncle Ro-Ro used to put money in Kristoffs mouth and send him to the shop for beer, he’d have the money in his mouth, the shop keeper would exchange it for beer and that’s how it was.
Uncle Ro-Ro was locked up in jail once (for hijacking a police dog show and making Kristoff wow the crowds with his amazing tricks thus embarrassing the police). Kristoff came home, and from his erratic behaviour, my grandma knew something was was wrong and she followed Kristoff who led her to the jail where uncle Ro-Ro was. After a lot of talk and the police being scared of Kristoff uncle Ro-Ro was released. I was pretty impressed with that story, and there are many more like that. The day after Uncle Ro-Ro died, so did Kristoff. I’m not quite at that level of canine love yet, but I’d be devastated if anything happened to Bush. Even Davinia-who’s reflex is to run when she hears anything resembling a bark, loves that little cutie.
While I should be figuring out how to set up a BG sentinel (mosquito) trap, I’m writing this blog. I find it quite cathartic. I should really focus on my work but it’s my last weekend, and I think I’m going to enjoy it to the max damn it – if I muck up this project, maybe I can write my memoirs. Anyway Praslin and La Digue await me…. mon pe vini!!!
The mosquito surveys are going ok, although I’ve become a bit worried about the research that I’m conducting, mostly because it has dawned on me that I’m not entirely sure what the hell my main aims are. I have a wealth of information, it’s just knowing what to do with it. To top things off, my tutor at Kings has declined my request for an extension until November. When I read this news in my email today I almost lost the will to carry on, but after a pep talk from Danny, the Director, and his offer of a Smirnoff ice coupled with a data gathering exercise, I was motivated to carry on.
Davinia has been here over a week now and although we are having a great time, her arrival signifies the end of my time here and the thought of leaving does make me feel a bit sad. My family have taken her in and have simply amazed me at how wonderful they really are at making her feel welcomed. They simply want her to have a great time and are already looking forward to her return. I don’t get to see them often and this time spent with them has been ‘pli bon’ as we say in creole or simply lovely.
Davinias’ easy going nature works for me during this time of immense stress with the project. Today my friend come tour guide Terence took us to a beach at North east point after work and we sat on the rocks watching the waves crash and sun go down while teasing each other. By day we count mosquito eggs, by night we visit and chat (or on occasion dance) with various family members and friends, ending up with dinner at Drinas and drinks at Cocos. Tomorrow Davinia will be going jet skiing and I’ll be doing the mosquito survey thing (one more survey to go, woohoo!).
Her birthday is on Monday, and from her scrappy knowledge of GCSE French, my family giving her daily creole lessons, and my cousin Jimmys crap secret keeping skills, she managed to decipher our surprise birthday plans for her. What we’ve organised is a party on my cousin Coco’s verandah this coming Sunday.
There’ll be a barbecue and we’ve managed to get the best musicians on the island to attend including the famous Kevin Rat. Apparently he was the most famous singer this island ever turned out, but after much womanising and 30 kids later, alcohol got the better of him. I simply cannot imagine him as a heart-throb, I even think he takes after his name and has a rattish look to him. Kevin Rat a lothario?! -but that’s how everyone describes how he was back in the day. He’s a thin wisp of a man with wild shoulder length hair and an unruly beard who can just about walk straight. Although I do wonder how much of it is an act for sympathy (one day I saw him on crutches, the next day he was walking fine along the mountainous terrain). He still does a few impromptu performances on demand (providing the drinks are flowing of course). Titante smacks her lips whenever she talks about his voice and considering she doesn’t dish out compliments too easily he must be very good indeed. I can’t wait to hear him perform. I’ve also convinced my uncle Lewis (the best bassist on the island wouldn’t you know) to find a guitar and play for me, he laid down his guitar 38 years ago so I feel quite honoured.
We’ve also got a well known musician Joel performing and I think we are going to have a sega dancing competition, Davinias learned the hip swaying quite quick, but I’m still going to take the title. It should be pretty damn great (
My little dog Bush is doing well. He walked me to the shops today and tried to follow Davinia and I to town. I’m a bit paranoid about him running around so free as my Uncle Gabbys dog ‘Tiny’ died recently. Tiny had eaten poison left out for stray dogs a couple of weeks ago. Another family dog Rocky also nearly died, but after being force fed milk and some tender loving care from my aunty Marlene, he survived. As you can imagine everyone was pretty sad at Tinys demise. When I first met Tiny, I had to sit through the whole story of when he was born and how cute he was etc. For me there is-or was should I say a line of demarcation between humans and animals.
I gave platitudes while rolling my eyes at the time but now I’m understanding where all that animal love is coming from. My cousin Ruth told me that it was there deep inside, in my blood as all my family are obsessed (she’s a vet) and I just needed to tap into it somehow. Now I think I’ve found my dog mojo. I don’t think I’d ever have one in the UK though. Compared to over here, dogs are babied and treated like silly creatures and it seems to reflect in their behaviour so it just wouldn’t be the same. I can’t even walk myself, let alone a dog, anyhow.
My great uncle Ro-Ro had the most amazing dog ever, Kristoff. From birth he trained Kristoff well. Uncle Ro-Ro used to put money in Kristoffs mouth and send him to the shop for beer, he’d have the money in his mouth, the shop keeper would exchange it for beer and that’s how it was.
Uncle Ro-Ro was locked up in jail once (for hijacking a police dog show and making Kristoff wow the crowds with his amazing tricks thus embarrassing the police). Kristoff came home, and from his erratic behaviour, my grandma knew something was was wrong and she followed Kristoff who led her to the jail where uncle Ro-Ro was. After a lot of talk and the police being scared of Kristoff uncle Ro-Ro was released. I was pretty impressed with that story, and there are many more like that. The day after Uncle Ro-Ro died, so did Kristoff. I’m not quite at that level of canine love yet, but I’d be devastated if anything happened to Bush. Even Davinia-who’s reflex is to run when she hears anything resembling a bark, loves that little cutie.
While I should be figuring out how to set up a BG sentinel (mosquito) trap, I’m writing this blog. I find it quite cathartic. I should really focus on my work but it’s my last weekend, and I think I’m going to enjoy it to the max damn it – if I muck up this project, maybe I can write my memoirs. Anyway Praslin and La Digue await me…. mon pe vini!!!
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